


Take It All Off

by brokenlittleboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Stripper Sam, Top Dean, powerbottom sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 13:52:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1781434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean eggs Sam into accepting a job as a stripper at a local stripclub for shits and giggles, as it is his duty as an older brother. However, he finds himself dealing with confusing thoughts when he goes to see Sam's show... and Sam is amazing. Dean broaches the subject to Sam, things get heavy, and it turns out Sam's good at way more than stripping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take It All Off

"Sam, come on. It’s only logical. The sign in the window even says they’re hiring! This is the perfect opportunity to get on the inside. With the way this hunt’s going, that’s exactly what we need."

"Fuck you, Dean."

"I’m just being reasonable here."

"Then why don’t you do it?"

"I have an appointment with that college professor, remember? It has to be you. Why are you so worked up about this?"

"I’m not going to apply to be a stripper, Dean."

Dean held out his hands. “I didn’t say you had to be a stripper! They might need a waiter or a bouncer or something— you’re definitely gigantor enough for that, and you’ve got the training.”

Sam glared resolutely at Dean. “You’re just doing this to embarrass me. You know full well they’re probably only hiring strippers and you want me to make a fool out of myself.”

Dean shrugged, giving Sam the most innocent, dejected look he could muster. “If you wanna spin it that way, I guess it doesn’t matter if another girl dies tonight.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but his shoulders sagged, and before he even spoke Dean knew he had won. “Fuck you, Dean,” Sam said again, but with less energy, and didn’t give Dean time to respond before turning to enter the building and disappearing inside.

Dean allowed himself one smug grin before walking back to the curb with a skip in his step and climbing to the Impala, hoping his interview wouldn’t drag on too long. 

—

The entire forty-five minutes Dean had spent at the local college had been infuriatingly boring. The professor’s voice seemed to have only one note and volume, and everything he said went in one ear and out the other. Dean tried his best to control his leg jiggling and appear interested, but it was so damn hard, seeing as he was now apparently in the most mind-numbing documentary ever created.

However, it had ended, and Dean had managed to shake the man’s hand and walk out calmly, before sprinting out of the building and into the Impala and hauling ass back into town. He hoped he wasn’t missing anything exciting. He pulled to a stop at the curb in front of the strip club and got out, trying to peer through the windows and see what was going on, but to no avail. It was too damn dark in there.

Hoping Sam hadn’t already spotted him, he slipped inside, staying close to the walls and hoping the low, ambient lighting would hide him from any prying eyes. Many of the tables were filled with a variety of guests— the stage was lit up and music was playing, but it was empty. Several waiters and waitresses prowled the crowd, none of them Sam. A devious grin curled his lips upward before he could stop it— he had been right. The only available position must’ve been a stripper or a dancer or something. He tried to imagine how miserably Sam would fail at this and inched closer, sitting down at a table next to two other guys.

The music got slightly louder and everybody turned toward the stage expectantly. Dean tapped a staccato beat against the table— his heart was racing and he didn’t quite know why. A man stepped out from behind the black stage curtains, and a spotlight instantly lit him up. 

_Oh, fuck._

Sam was wearing a suit. He looked calm— Dean had assumed he’d be freaked and doused in sweat, but he looked in his element. The suit was obviously tailored to be a stripper’s suit or whatever— it was all black, three-piece, and ridiculously,  _ridiculously_  tight-fitting. The bulge in his pants was almost prominent, and Dean forced his eyes upward.

Sam smiled slowly, his eyes too dark and too low for Dean’s comfort. That was enough to stir a small rise out of the audience— a few whoops and catcalls sounded. Dean felt completely out of place, like he had made some huge, life-altering mistake or had accidentally stepped into an alternate universe. He swallowed, staying still, knowing Sam would notice him immediately if he got up and left. One of the guys at his table leaned over and said something to the other, and the other guy whistled at Sam. 

There was a pole in the center of the stage, and Sam walked slowly over to it, light on his feet, like a cat. First he casually looped his hand around it and walked around in a circle, eyes roving predatorily over the crowd. Suddenly, he swung back around the pole, hips snapping and then moving fluidly as he humped it, with too much grace and too much familiarity as he did so. A little bit of sweat gleamed on his neck as he tilted his head back, then arched his back and closed his eyes, spinning around the pole before stepping back. He threw his blazer off with one flick of his wrist and someone grabbed it off the stage, cheering.

He sauntered back to the pole and backed up against it, bending down and grinding slowly against it, his hips moving in waves. He threw his neck back again, his mouth hanging open. The audience seemed to like that by the uproar it caused. 

Dean felt too hot. He shifted in his seat, scratching at his neck. A waitress asked if he wanted a drink, and he declined. 

He ripped the buttons open on his dress shirt superman-style, tearing it off and tossing it into the crowd. A chorus of boos went up when they saw he had one more shirt on. He threw his head back and laughed, a laugh Dean had always considered to be reserved for him when he told a particularly awful joke. A stir of something low and hot started in his stomach, and he folded his hands in his lap, swallowing.

Sam’s shirt was practically painted on his body— short-sleeved, black, and designed to ride up on his hips to display some stomach and a dark happy trail. He still had on a little bowtie around his neck that was hanging lopsidedly.

Dean couldn’t help but notice that Sam’s hips looked like they were cut from marble, accentuated perfectly by the dark lighting. Sam turned slowly and showed the curve of his ass, bending down to intentionally rile the audience as he picked up a dollar bill and shoved it in his waistband.

Dean was having a crisis.

For one thing, why the hell was Sam  _so fucking good_  at this? Dean had to admit he was fucking owning the stage, crawling to the edge and teasing the male visitors before slinking back to the pole and doing  _obscene_  things to it. The crowd was going crazy for him, and the money was piling up— more than the two of them could ever hope to get in a night at the pool table of some bar.

Covered in baggy, usually puke-colored plaid shirts and loose-fitting pants, Dean hadn’t really noticed how built Sam was. Sure, they saw each other naked pretty frequently when they shared a motel room, but it was so casual and natural Dean had never really thought to look. Besides, it was his _brother._

But here, wearing slim black clothes that held nothing back and a small bit of eyeliner, there was no denying that Sam was attractive. Crazily so. His hair no longer seemed stupid and childish to Dean— it fit him, it framed his high cheekbones and curled at the nape of his neck, pointing attention to his collarbones. He looked mature, he looked hot— he looked downright sexy.

"I know, right?" one of the guys at his table said, nudging him, and that was when Dean noticed he was gawking, practically mooning over Sam. His brother, if he hadn’t already mentioned that.

Flushing red, he shut his mouth and nodded, forcing his eyes back up to Sam’s face. 

Meanwhile, Sam was drawing back from the pole, walking to the edge of the stage and getting down on all fours, grabbing a man at the front by his cheeks and drawing him in for a sloppy, wide kiss. 

If Dean had said yes to that drink, he would’ve choked on it.

Sam pushed the man back into his chair roughly, and the man was bright pink and dazed, lips shining with Sam’s saliva. He smiled up at Sam, mouth still open, who winked in return. 

Sam swiped up some more money and jammed it into the back of his waistband, releasing the elastic against his ass with a  _slap._ By now, the cheers were pretty much constant, and Sam was glowing in the attention, alternating between working the crowd and spinning around the pole, hips snapping as he did so and muscled arms stretched above his head. 

Sam’s hands went to the hem of his shirt and he threw it over his head, displaying shining, shaved abs of almost pure muscle. He was more tanned than Dean remembered— maybe that was the lights. His hands roved down his own body, resting on his hips as he swayed and danced to the music.

"Take it all off!" Someone yelled, and the crowd laughed before picking up the chant. 

"Take it all off! Take it all off! Take it all off!"

Sam smiled dazzlingly, licking his lips and eyeing up the crowd, pupils glinting. He sat down on the edge of the stage and hopped off, pushing his way through the crowd and systematically grabbing the asses of the hottest men in the room. He picked a shorter guy from the middle of the crowd, taking his hand and dragging him after him back up onto the stage. The audience began cheering as Sam helped the man up onto the stage. He waved a hand insistently to one of the waitresses hugging the sidelines, and she handed him up one of the chairs. 

He set it in front of the pole, Leaned back against it and spread his legs wide open. He gestured for the volunteer to come over to him.

The man was kind of mousy, and obviously shy and nervous— he crept over to Sam, who smiled at him and stood, grabbing him by the waist and shoving him into the chair. He then climbed onto the man’s lap, legs spread wide as he began to give him a lapdance.

Dean took a breath and blinked— he had forgotten to do either of those things, watching his brother like this. The warm feeling in his gut hadn’t gone away— if anything, it had gotten stronger, an unsettled feeling that made it so he couldn’t take his eyes off Sam, or his hips, or his dick.

 _I’m so fucked._ Dean’s mouth was dry, and he watched Sam roll his his hips on the man and nip at his jaw and felt a flare of what was undeniably jealousy. He chalked it up to being overly protective— Sam was his.

But was he his like this?

Sam’s hands grabbed his volunteers and put them on his own waist, looping them in his waistband. He said something to the man that couldn’t be heard over the music. 

The man dragged Sam’s pants down over his ass. 

Sam was wearing a black thong. It hid absolutely nothing— his round, sculpted ass bare to the audience, who were going absolutely fucking nuts, as if Sam were the best thing since sliced bread. Waitresses were now sweeping up money from the floor. There was an abundance of one dollar bills, the likes of which Dean had never seen before— and he’d been to plenty of strip shows.

Just not male ones featuring his little brother.

Sam stood, and the volunteer, clearly sprouting a boner, bent down and dragged Sam’s pants to his ankles, who then kicked them off. Sam grabbed the man’s ass and pulled him in for a kiss before sending him on his way. 

Sam stood, legs spread wide and hands on his hips, quirking an eyebrow to the audience. They responded immediately— whooping and cheering and showering money over him. Sam stuck more money in the waistband of his thong, jutting his hips out and displaying everything as he did so.

Dean’s eyes wouldn’t have been able to meet Sam’s even if he had been paid.

Sam had been holding out on him.

The thong was keeping no secrets. It was tight and as small as possible, outlining Sam’s massive dick down to the veins. Sam was slim but incredibly long, and Dean realized the hot stirring wasn’t coming from his stomach, but from somewhere lower. 

Within moments he was fully hard, and more aroused than he’d been in years— itching to jack off hard and come the same way, his eyes going white as he came all over his own chest. 

Obviously he couldn’t do that here, and he shifted, trying his best to ignore the fact that he was absolutely crazy over his brother right now, his little Sammy, who had once been in diapers.

The thoughts didn’t help at all. Not even picturing a naked grandma could pull Dean Winchester back now. 

Sam was bent over for some reason or another, shamelessly shaking his ass to the music. He stood and slid over to the pole, effortlessly climbing it and humping it. He grabbed his own dick, thumbing it through the thin cloth and giving the audience a view of exactly what they were paying for. 

He hopped down, breathless, and stepped backward, toward the curtain. The audience complained and he shook his head, smiling. He backed again until his back was pressed to the curtains. He hooked a finger through his thong and pulled it all the way down, tossing it into the audience before laughing and sliding away backstage. 

There was a murmur through the audience as the lights came back on— and Dean felt that kind of high often gotten after seeing a movie at the theatre, but this was different, harder, more burning, and he absolutely had to see Sam.

Shaking like a fucking leaf, Dean exited the building and drove around the corner, parking in front of some deli. He texted Sam:  _need a ride?_

The response was almost instantaneous and far too casual for Dean’s liking, seeing as he had just had an earth-shaking experience and was still painfully hard.  _Yeah, thanks. Meet you out front in 5._

Dean pulled back around to see Sam in broad daylight in his normal clothes, a bag in one of his hands filled with dark materials. The contrast to the Sam he had just seen was almost ridiculous— Sam ducked his head in thanks and climbed into the car, folding himself up just to fit inside. He smiled at Dean, natural and small and not alluring in any way. 

Dean was grateful for the coat on his lap as he drove them home. 

—

Sam got out of the car first, which bought him a few moments at best, walking awkwardly and almost limping into the bunker behind his brother. He didn’t even bother trying to mask how blatantly he was admiring his brother’s ass— after seeing pretty much all of Sam, sleek and shining and lithe, he just couldn’t care anymore.

And he was still hard. 

It had only been a six or seven minute drive back home, but still.

It was like a switch had been flipped inside his head. He knew his brother was attractive, sure, but he had been a friend to hang out with, a kid to protect, that sort of thing. Dean cared for him immensely.

But now, holy hell, it was as if he had been admiring a velvet curtain all his life and suddenly that had been pulled back to reveal a beautiful piece of art; a boner-inducing, hot little brother.

Dean felt his cock twitch and admitted to himself that he was probably getting off on the incest part.

Sam was completely oblivious to Dean’s internal freak out. He was whistling to himself, a slower version of one of the raunchy songs Dean recognized from his strip. While Sam went back into his room and put his stuff away, Dean sat at one of the long tables in the main room, rubbing his dick through his jeans and squirming as he waited for Sam to come back.

After what felt like an absurdly long time to put away one bag, Sam came back in, hands in his pockets. He slipped into the chair across from Dean and opened up his laptop.

"I didn’t find out much at the club," Sam said absentmindedly, eyes skimming some webpage, "but the manager said before Alex went missing she visited some weird travelling circus. I think it’s gotta be something. Besides, unless your insomnia-curing professor gave you a goldmine of information, It’s all we got. So i think we should-"

"I saw you." Dean interrupted. "At the club," he elaborated, trying to sound careless and at-ease, as if his brother’s stripping hadn’t affected him at all and certainly wasn’t causing him to currently stare unabashedly at Sam’s lips. 

Sam’s eyes practically bugged out of his head. He slammed the laptop lid shut, shifted in his seat. His mouth opened and closed a few times, like a fish out of water. “You what?” he finally croaked, blinking.

This wasn’t quite the reaction Dean was expecting.

To be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure what he _was_  expecting— Sam to growl and climb across the table, launching himself at Dean? Sam to give him a personal lapdance? Dean cursed himself.  _Think with your upstairs brain, Dean,_  he could practically hear Sam chiding. Maybe Sam would be angry that Dean had watched. Maybe he’d be proud.

But it was sort of typical that he’d be embarrassed as fuck.

Sam’s cheeks were burning red, and he was frozen in place, eyes looking everywhere but at Dean. He pushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear, then did it again. He swallowed. 

"Look," he said softly, eyes darting to Dean’s but just as quickly away, "they really needed a stripper. Really badly. And they had already hired me and I couldn’t just say no-"

Dean shushed him. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked incredulously, but backtracked when Sam paled. “No, no, no, no. I mean… Sam… you were  _fucking amazing_  at that. Jesus christ,”

Sam stared at him, wide-eyed.

"I’ve never seen a better stripper in my entire fucking life. You get the weight of that sentence? I wish I had seen  _this_  you sooner, baby boy.”

Sam was silent. He looked as if he’d been caught doing something particularly naughty. He couldn’t take his eyes away from Dean. Dean stood up slowly and walked over to him, and Sam’s eyes flicked downward and registered what he was seeing. He swallowed audibly.

"Don’t you see what you’re doing to me?" Dean said roughly. "Looks like you might have to do a few private showings, Sam."

In a split second Sam did a complete one-eighty. He stood up, lids lowered and smiling hungrily at Dean. “It was that good, huh?”

Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulders and shoved him back against the wall. “What do you think?” he growled. 

Sam laughed cockily.

"I’m still wearing a thong, you know," he whispered into Dean’s ear. 

Dean held back a moan and grabbed the back of Sam’s head, taking his hair in his fist and holding him steady as he practically assaulted him with kisses, urging Sam’s mouth wider and wider so he could kiss deeper.

Sam groaned against his kiss and his hands curled in the back of Dean’s shirt, dragging him impossibly closer. Dean hummed and pressed himself flush against Sam as Sam sucked on his tongue, the two of them gasping and pulling apart for milliseconds before diving back into it, as if they had just invented kissing and discovered how damn awesome it was.

Dean tilted his head to get better access. He whined pathetically when Sam pushed him back, mouth hanging obscenely wide and swollen and shiny from all the work they’d been doing.

"Whose bedroom?" Sam panted, and Dean almost came right then and there.

"Fuck. Um," Dean managed, looking down at Sam’s boner and losing his train of thought. He stepped forward to kiss Sam again, who giggled and pushed him back again.

"Calm down," he teased. "What are you, twelve?"

"Shut up," Dean snapped breathlessly. "My bedroom it is."

Sam quirked an eyebrow at him but strode off, and Dean could only follow behind him like an obedient dog.

Sam pushed his door open and purposefully headed over to Dean’s desk, opening the drawer second from the bottom and removing the false base. He sifted through the contents, eventually just pulling out a condom and a small bottle of lube.

"How the fuck did you know where those were?" Dean sputtered.

"I’ve borrowed your buttplug before. It’s nice," Sam told him matter-of-factly, shutting the drawer and sitting on the bed.

"Dude-"

"Don’t worry, I washed it."

"I was just going to say that I’m probably going to make you borrow it more after this," Dean said weakly.

Sam smiled lopsidedly, obviously pleased with how undone he’d made Dean. He played with the condom, tossing it from hand to hand. “So how are we going to do this?” he asked.

"What?"

"Are you going to fuck me in the ass, or am I going to fuck you?" Sam sounded out, as if he were talking to a child. "If you’re into switching, or if you wanna do something more complicated, I’m totally down for that."

Dean almost swooned. “I can’t believe we’re even having this discussion.”

Sam winked. “It’s about what happens after the discussion, right?”

"The things you do to me," Dean shook his head. "We’ll start simple, okay? We’ll talk kinks and shit later. But I’m definitely not going to be a bottom with you."

Sam grinned toothily. “I don’t think you’ll be saying that for long, Dean. But fair enough. I’ve been dreaming of you fucking me practically my whole life.” he tossed the condom to Dean.

The admission, said quickly and as if it wasn’t important, stopped Dean in his tracks. His hands still instinctively reached up and caught the condom, but his mind was still stuck on what Sam had just said. They’d gotten close to this before— multiple circlejerks as teens, teaching Sam how to kiss, all those times Sam had gotten grabby-drunk and had looked as if he were about to say something… but Dean had chalked it up to just plain horniness or drunkenness on both of their parts.

He could see now that they had been heading toward this for a long time. It only made him more attracted to Sam. He wanted to kiss him forever, to feel his skin on his skin and stay with him forever. He wanted to know all of Sam, to be able to map him out blindfolded.

He wanted to stop waiting.

Not looking to check Sam’s reaction, he began stripping, pulling his shirt up over his head and tossing it onto the floor. He heard his sheets rustling and knew Sam was doing the same, but didn’t want to look. He wanted to hold back, to not constantly gawk so that when he did look, it would seem better. Everything in moderation.

He didn’t pause after becoming shirtless and went straight to his belt buckle, sliding it out of the loops and discarding it before starting on his zipper.

Soon enough, he was stark naked. He sneaked a look at Sam, and his breath caught in his throat.

_Jesus fucking christ._

Sam was sprawled across his bed, propped up against the pillows and long legs spread wide. He had a hand on his cock, aimlessly stroking, looking at Dean with unconstrained want, his eyes possessively roving up and down him. 

He whistled appreciatively at Dean. “You just gonna stand there?”

Dean was still hung up on Sam’s big hand curled around his cock, which was thin and pink and veiny but just as long as he’d remembered from the show. It’s head was big and dark and oozed a small trail of precome. Dean decided it looked much better sans thong. 

"Dean." Sam said again, sternly.

Dean mumbled some gibbering before climbing onto the bed and on top of Sam, who slid lower down on the pillows and looked up at Dean from under his eyelids.

Dean wasted no time in putting the condom on his own dick, feeling unnecessarily proud when Sam watched him do it, practically purring at the sight.

Dean bent down and kissed Sam, sweetly this time, and Sam hooked his legs around Dean, his heels digging into Dean’s ass. Dean grinded down against Sam, enjoying the electric feeling of his dick rubbing up against his brother’s, and Sam’s hips bucked up to meet him.

They went on like that for awhile, just grinding against each other and staying attached by the lips, before Sam pulled back again, whimpering. 

"Just open me up," he demanded, out of breath, and passed Dean the bottle of lube. 

Dean agreed with the sentiment. He couldn’t possibly wait any longer. He slicked up his cock first, then added more to his fingers. He sat up and pulled Sam’s legs further apart, tracing his forefinger around the edge of Sam’s hole. Sam gasped.

"Jesus, that’s cold."

Dean responded with a throaty laugh, pressing the tip of his finger into Sam before sliding out again. He only paused for a fraction of a second before sticking his finger deeper into Sam, up to the first knuckle, and building up a slow pattern. 

Sam writhed on his fingers, panting and trying to force Dean deeper in with just his hips. He moaned, fingers going white as they grabbed at the sheets.

"Calm down," Dean mimicked, "what are you, twelve?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Sam managed breathlessly, huffing. 

Dean chucked and stuck a second finger in, and then a third, enjoying the tight, hot, feeling of Sam around his fingers. He tried not to display his impatience— nothing would make him happier than to just plow into Sam immediately, hard, and rough and fast, until they both blacked out and came. 

But he’d start off slow, for Sam.

Soon enough Sam was taking three fingers like a pro. “I’m open,” he spat, “just fuck me already?”

"You sure?" Dean asked, suddenly hesitant.

Sam bucked his hips again, his own hands stroking himself faster and faster. “If you don’t make me come, I will,” he threatened.

That was enough provocation. 

Dean pulled his fingers out of Sam’s ass and guided his own dick in, rubbing the head against his hole before pushing right in. Sam’s reaction was almost immediate. He arched up from the bed, moaning long and loud, pressing his heels further into Dean like spurs on a horse.

"More, more, more," he panted, throwing his head back against the pillows. 

Dean bent down over Sam, pushing deeper in slowly, enjoying the feel of their skin plastered to each other. He licked the sweat off of Sam’s adam’s apple and nuzzled Sam’s neck before nipping him at the edge of his jaw. 

He thrust in and out, a little deeper each time, swearing and cursing and mumbling incoherent sentences. Sam shut him up by wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck and pulling him in for a sloppy, wide-mouthed kiss, Dean sucking at his tongue and moving his hips like waves. 

Dean found out very quickly that Sam was very vocal, and moaned like an absolute slut. 

"Dean, Dean, dee…" he would trail off, his voice an octave higher than usual, panting and gasping and frequently giving drawn-out moans. 

"Harder, harder, harder!" he begged inbetween kisses. 

Sam was warm and slick and tight and felt  _so good_ , coupled with the fact that this was his  _little brother_ , who was panting and groaning and  _begging_  to get fucked. Dean’s eyes almost rolled into his head as he went faster, groaning into Sam’s throat as his hips jerked and snapped against Sam’s ass almost automatically. 

His balls slapped against Sam’s ass and they had used a little bit too much lube, created a wet sound. The faster he went the more his bed creaked, the posts slamming against the wall. He was grateful they weren’t keeping any guests at the moment. 

Sam cried out, panting harder and turning his mouth away from Dean’s. His hands grabbed at Dean’s back and his neck tilted back as he keened, his whole body starting to shake slightly.

"Dean, Dee, I-I…" he trailed off, voice husky. He moaned again.

"I know," Dean ground out, "me too. We’ll come together, just a little bit longer."

They were both at the edge. Dean could feel it building up. He held back a curse and bit into Sam’s shoulder, closing his eyes and just letting loose. His ear was next to Sam’s mouth and he could tell his brother was an absolute mess, not even groaning or panting anymore, just uttering “uh, uh, uh, uh” little noises with each thrust of Dean’s cock inside him. His legs spasmodically pulled Dean closer and his head tossed from side to side. 

Dean gasped. He pulled his lips back from the purpling mark he had left on Sam’s shoulder and pressed his mouth to Sam’s, crying out as he did so. 

They came together with a shout, Dean buried inside Sam and Sam’s come spattering warmly against Dean’s tummy. Dean’s vision went completely white, and he was sure Sam wasn’t faring much better. It took them a long time to come down, gasping for breath and holding onto each other and sharing one last kiss. 

Dean pulled out of Sam with a slick noise and rolled over. He lay beside his brother, staring at the ceiling with his mouth open. He could still hear his heartbeat in his ears.

"Jesus christ," Dean said incredulously.

"Jesus christ," Sam agreed, his voice soft and choked from all the shouting he’d been doing.

Dean rolled over onto his side and kissed the edge of Sam’s mouth softly, his mouth closed and chaste. “You were perfect,” he whispered, and Sam smiled.

"Sap," Sam accused, but Dean could tell he was grateful for the comment. He smiled and traced his fingers gently down Dean’s side and back up again, the pads of his fingers dancing along Dean’s sweaty skin and causing him to shiver.

"You wanna clean up now, baby?" Dean asked, the nickname slipping out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"Yeah. And we should do this more often, honey," Sam responded, taking Dean’s hand in his and leading him away to the bathroom.

Dean watched Sam (or parts of him, at least) head into the bathroom before him, and was almost sad Sam wouldn’t be an actual stripper. Maybe one more show, for sentimental reasons. Dean considered buying a pole on amazon, savoring the image of it. 

Although, he was glad he wouldn’t have to share Sam. Sam was completely, utterly, 100% his. And he knew without a doubt that he was Sam’s. 

He also knew, as Sam turned back and looked at him with soft eyes and a small, loving smile, that this is how things were meant to be. 

He shut the bathroom door and curled up behind Sam, kissing him behind the ear and whispering promises that he intended to keep.

_I’m yours forever, Sammy._


End file.
